


If Left Untreated

by thefrankydoyles



Category: Wentworth (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-18
Updated: 2017-08-18
Packaged: 2018-12-16 17:22:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11833449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefrankydoyles/pseuds/thefrankydoyles
Summary: Set around the beginning of season 4; Franky gets sick for the first time since being paroled, and she doesn’t want Bridget anywhere near her.





	If Left Untreated

**Author's Note:**

  * For [suchterriblesilence](https://archiveofourown.org/users/suchterriblesilence/gifts).



> This fic is dedicated to the one and only Anouk (suchterriblesilence/Tanner_Dedication/gardenghost_). HAPPY FREAKIN BIRTHDAY, YOU!! 
> 
> So many thanks to Ashleigh for being such an awesome beta on this one! 
> 
> I hope that everyone enjoys; this can easily be considered a bonus chapter of “First”.

Bridget knew something was off when her alarm clock blared at seven in the morning and Franky was still sound asleep next to her. During the entire two months since Franky had been paroled, that had never happened; most days Bridget found her in the kitchen, already dressed for the day and whipping up something for breakfast.  
  
As Bridget stretched and lazily wiped the sleep from her eyes, that's when she heard it- the faint, but unmistakable rhythmic beat.  
  
Franky was snoring.  
  
Franky didn't snore, ever. At least not that Bridget had heard.  
  
If the deep sleep and snoring weren't enough to clue Bridget in, as if on cue Franky rolled over and let out a hacking, wheezing cough, the kind that would make any bystander's chest twinge in empathy.  
  
Despite the death-like noises she had just produced, Franky stayed peacefully sound asleep, her mouth hanging open from apparent congestion.  
  
Bridget climbed out of bed as quietly as possible and tip-toed over to Franky's side of the bed, bending down to gently press her lips to Franky's forehead.  
  
No fever at least- a good sign. Franky probably just caught a common cold, and truthfully, Bridget was surprised it had taken this long. It wasn't unusual for recent parolees to catch every bug under the sun that happened to cross their path; after being cooped in a singular, sterile environment for so long, it really was no wonder.  
  
Bridget went about her normal morning routine, but not before pulling the covers over Franky's body and subconsciously smoothing a stray piece of hair from her forehead.  
  
Franky was still snoring away thirty minutes later so Bridget scrawled out a quick note to say good morning, and gently kissed her forehead one last time before heading out the door.  
  
**  
  
Bridget was knee-deep in an admissions report when her phone vibrated in her desk two hours later.  
  
_Why did you let me sleep so fucking late?_  
  
“Good morning to you too, babe,” Bridget frowned to herself.  
  
_Because it seemed like you needed it, how are you feeling?_ She typed back instead.  
  
It wasn't until lunchtime that Franky's name flashed again on Bridget's screen.  
  
_I'm fine. Fuck ton of applications to finish_.  
  
Bridget's brow creased as she read the text. Franky's messages were rarely that flat. She thought about calling, but if Franky really was feeling okay and just stressed about her applications, Bridget didn't want to bother her.  
  
_Okay, good luck, babe. See you tonight. xx_  
  
**  
  
If it hadn't been for Franky's green car parked in its usual spot on the street, Bridget would have thought the house was empty.  
  
She had gotten stuck at work later than usual due to a false-alarm lockdown, so by the time she got home the sun had already gone down. Oddly, the house was just as dark as the sky outside.  
  
Bridget shut the front door behind her and flicked on the hallway light, throwing her bags down and knocking off her heels.

The house was silent too, except for the familiar, faint sound of deep breathing that she woke up to that morning. Bridget couldn't help the smile that tugged on her features at the sight in front of her as she entered the living room. 

There was Franky, tucked beneath an oversized blanket and one of her Administrative Law textbooks, snoring away, mouth agape. Her hair was tousled up into a messy high ponytail and there was a hint of drool peeking out of her bottom lip. Her face was in a rare state devoid of makeup, except for a swipe of eyeliner across her bottom lids.  
  
The vulnerability of the image struck Bridget with a twinge in her chest, and she absentmindedly wondered when the last time another person's snoring, drooling form made her heart swell.  
  
Fucking hell, she had it so bad for this woman.  
  
Bridget's musings were stopped in their tracks when she knelt down next to Franky, her smile quickly dissipating. Now that she was just mere inches from her body, Bridget could make out the sheen of sweat that outlined Franky's forehead, despite the fact that the brunette was clutching onto the blanket for dear life.  
  
Bridget leaned down and pressed her lips to Franky's forehead; a loud gasp escaped her mouth, regrettably right next to Franky’s ear, as she retreated.  
  
"Jesus Christ, Gidge! What the fuck?" Franky wheezed, her eyes shooting open as she woke with a start.

Bridget ignored her tone and reached over to switch on the lamp.  
  
"Franky, you're burning up."  
  
"I'll pop some more pills," Franky replied simply as she sat up and adjusted her eyes, a task that Bridget noted took her a lot longer than it should have.  
  
Franky's eyes were glassy and her skin was clammy.

"Franky, baby, let's get you to bed, hmm? And I'll get you some water and medicine."  
  
"Nah, Gidge, I'm fine. I need to finish this reading," Franky said as she attempted to stand, but she didn't make it very far as her legs gave out immediately under the weight. She would have fallen if Bridget hadn't shot her arm out to catch her.  
  
"Franky, you're clearly not fine, the reading can wait," Bridget attempted to say as calmly as possible while guiding Franky to sit back down.

Franky didn't respond, her eyes zoning out and looking a bit more like grey than their usual green.

Bridget rested her hand against Franky's shoulder. Jesus, every part of her body felt like it was on fire.  
  
"Franky, have you felt like this all day? Why didn't you tell me?"  
  
Franky didn't answer, just shivered in her seat on the couch and attempted to tug the blanket around her waist.  
  
Bridget bit her lip and linked her hands together, resting them under her chin.  
  
"Okay, here's what we're going to do, I'm going to grab some water and cold washcloths-"  
  
"For fuck's sake, Gidget, I said I was fine!" Franky snapped and stood up, this time making it to a full upright position.  
  
Bridget stopped talking, her mouth hanging open in stunned silence. Franky let out a hacking cough, and the wince that followed was slight, but Bridget noticed.  
  
"Is your throat sore?" She asked tentatively.

Franky huffed. "I just need some rest, that's it, okay?"

And with that, Franky grabbed her textbook and left the room, a chill visibly running through her body yet again as she rounded the corner of the hallway.

A few seconds later, Bridget heard the bedroom door slam.

 _Well, fuck, that went well_ , Bridget thought as she brought her hand up to rest against her mouth, her eyes wide.

But Bridget knew better than to follow Franky; she needed her space, and Bridget was more than happy to give it her. There was obviously a reason that Franky’s walls shot up like fireworks, and while Bridget could certainly take a wild guess as to why, it wasn’t her place until Franky was ready to talk.

So Bridget busied herself with some extra work that needed to get done, logging files, checking reports- tasks that didn’t need her full attention as she kept half an ear out for any signals of distress coming from the bedroom.

For an hour the house was quiet, the only noise coming from the humming of the refrigerator and the clacking of laptop keys. Then suddenly Bridget heard a door open, followed by frantic feet on the hardwood floor, and half a second later, the unmistakable sound of retching.

_Shit._

Bridget stood up and crept towards the hallway entrance, leaning her body against the doorjamb. She bit her lip and put her hands on her hips, using every ounce of will left in her body not to run to Franky.

But then she heard a whimper, followed by the faintest call of her name coming from the bathroom, and Bridget bolted down the hallway faster than she probably would have if a ‘code red’ had been alerted at work.

When she got to the bathroom door, it was unsurprisingly locked, so Bridget knocked lightly twice and put her ear to the door.

“Franky? Can I come in?” she asked gently.

She was answered only with sounds of dry heaving, and Bridget’s heart broke in a way that made her desperately wish she could knock down this stupid fucking door and take the woman, no doubt doubled over on the tile floor, into her arms.

“Just need a bottle of water,” Franky rasped out through the barrier.

Bridget sighed. “Yeah, yeah, of course darling. I’ll be right back.”

Bridget returned to the bathroom door a minute later with water, Panadol, and a fresh t-shirt in hand.

“Franky? Can I please come in? I have some water and medicine,” Bridget attempted again.

Bridget heard the muted, frustrated groan, and she thought about simply leaving the items outside, but then the door unlatched and opened just a crack.

Bridget took a deep breath and slowly pushed the door open, and the sight in front of her wounded her heart; Franky was curled up on the floor, her head in her hands, effectively shielding Bridget’s view of her face.

She looked so small, like a little girl.

Bridget put the items down on the floor next to Franky and sat down beside her, but careful not to invade her space too much.

“I brought you some Panadol, have you taken anything within the last six hours?” Bridget asked.

Franky shook her head in the negative direction without looking up.

“Okay,” Bridget breathed. “Do you think you could swallow two of these with some water?”

“Yeah,” Franky croaked from under her arm.

Bridget opened the water bottle and handed the pills to Franky. Franky held them in her hand for about a minute before she finally made a move to sit up, wincing in the process. Bridget finally got a good look at Franky’s face; her normally olive-toned skin was about five shades paler, and her eyes were bleak and glazed-over.

_Oh, baby._

Franky downed the pills with a swig of the water and took a shaky breath.

“Thanks, Gidget. I’m fine, you can go,” Franky said as she averted her eyes from Bridget’s.

Bridget didn’t answer, and instinctively made a move to place the back of her hand on Franky’s forehead in order to feel for a temperature. But Franky didn’t see Bridget’s hand coming, and she jolted back from the contact and shot her own hand up to shield herself from Bridget’s touch.

Bridget’s heart lurched and she pulled her hand away as fast as possible from Franky’s frame. Tears began to form in the backs of her eyelids and she blinked rapidly, desperately trying to keep them at bay. Bridget knew, in the deepest part of her being, that Franky’s sudden walls and harsh response had absolutely nothing to do with her. Her defenses were up, and for good reason; Bridget couldn’t imagine the pain Franky had gone through in the past when she got this sick.

But none of that knowledge eased the sting of being pushed away like that and nothing could have prepared Bridget for the look in Franky’s eyes in that moment.

It would have been so much easier if Franky simply got mad again. If she just told Bridget to fuck off and leave her be. But there was no trace of anger on Franky’s face; there was only fear.

Bridget’s heart cracked as she brought her hand up to her face and tried to hide the newly visible tear in the corner of her eye; she stood up slowly and shifted her feet towards the doorway.

“I’m sorry, baby. I’m so sorry. You just let me know if you need me again, yeah?” Bridget whispered.

She was halfway out the door when she heard the choked-back sob.

Bridget turned back around and was met with the sight of Franky’s body shaking into her own form, her head buried in her arms on top of her curled-up knees.

“I’m sorry, Gidge,” Franky gasped between cries.

Bridget couldn’t leave her like this, she just couldn’t. So she slowly sat back down on the floor, fighting the urge to reach out and tuck the dark fringe framing Franky’s face behind her ear.

Instead, she clasped her own hands in her lap.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, Franky.” Bridget’s voice was soft, but strong. She needed Franky to know that she was here.

“I’ll just sit here, hmm? And I won’t touch you, but I’ll be right here. For as long as you want.”

Franky whimpered through her subsiding tears and nodded her head against her knees.

Bridget wasn’t sure how long she sat with Franky in silence on the bathroom floor. A half hour maybe? Franky puked a couple more times into the toilet, and Bridget had handed her some more water and the washcloth, but that was it. Eventually, Franky leaned back against the wall and sighed, before tentatively scooting closer to Bridget and slowly leaning her head on Bridget’s shoulder.

Bridget cautiously wrapped her arm around Franky’s waist and exhaled deeply when she felt no resistance to her touch.

_It was going to be okay._

“What do you say we go into the bedroom, hmm? Do you think you’re done puking for now? Your fever went down a bit, I think,” Bridget noted gently.

Franky nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

Bridget helped her up and led her to the bedroom, stopping at Franky’s side of the bed to hold the covers up so she could slide in.

“Anything else you need, baby?” Bridget asked after she covered Franky with the blankets.

Franky shook her head and closed her eyes. Bridget wasn’t sure if she should leave or stay, but then she heard Franky’s voice, her tone so low and soft that she would have missed the utterance if she wasn’t standing inches from her body.

“You?”

It was such a simple fucking request, the kind that any average bedridden person asked of loved ones a million times over; _will you stay with me? Can you lay here with me until I feel better?_

But Bridget knew that it wasn’t simple for Franky, and she took a gander at the prospect that Franky had never in her life directly asked for comfort before.

Bridget took a deep breath and tried to keep her emotions in check.

“I’m here, Franky, I’m right here,” she said as she slid under the covers and finally gathered Franky in her arms, wrapping her body around her from behind and grasping at her hand.

Franky sighed, her eyes still shut, and threaded her fingers fiercely through Bridget’s.

“I’m here,” Bridget cooed again into Franky’s ear.

Franky exhaled as she settled into Bridget.

It wasn’t until a few minutes later that Franky spoke, drawing Bridget out of her light doze.

“I’m sorry.”

Bridget opened her eyes and adjusted her hold on Franky.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, babe.”

Bridget could feel Franky shake her head lightly against the pillow, and could picture her grimacing.

“I hate being sick. Wasn’t really the best time for me when I was a kid, hey.”

She took a deep breath and Bridget stayed silent, in case Franky wanted to say more.

A minute later, Franky continued. “I got Strep Throat a few times when I was young. High fever, puking, the works. And my throat would swell to the size of a fucking golf ball. The year after my dad left, I got a bad bout and I told mum I needed medicine, but she wouldn’t take me to the doctor. Probably because she didn’t want to chance anyone lifting up my shirt and seeing the fucking long lines of black and blue. So four days went by, and she came into the bathroom at one point while I was puking. She leaned down next to me, and she stroked my hair, and I was such a fucking idiot because all I could think was that she must finally see how sick I am, she’s going to get me medicine.”

Franky snorted. “Well, joke was on me. The next moment she slapped me across the face and yanked my arm up- told me to stop acting like such a fucking baby. That the next time I threw up she would teach me a lesson. Of course I fucking puked again! I was just a kid, I couldn’t control it. That was the day dear-old mum discovered she had quite the affinity for burned skin.”

Bridget was glad that Franky’s back was to her. She was sure her own face was as pale as Franky’s at this point, and she felt the familiar plunge of her gut.

No fucking wonder Franky looked terrorized when Bridget went to touch her face in the bathroom. She could kick herself.

Bridget tightened her grip around Franky’s waist and kissed her shoulder. Whether or not it was simply the fever propelling Franky to open up in greater detail about her mum than she ever had before, it didn’t matter. It was Bridget’s job to make her feel safe now.

“Besides, not really a good look for a Top Dog, either, ya know?” Franky added with a smirk, drawing Bridget out of her reverie.  

Bridget’s heart cracked. She knew that Franky was more than capable of taking care of herself, but Bridget desperately wanted her to know that she didn’t need to. Not anymore.

She placed a light kiss on the back of Franky’s clammy neck.

“I’ve got you, Franky. You’re safe, I promise,” Bridget whispered against her skin as she subconsciously drew circles along the burn scars underneath Franky’s t-shirt.

All she wanted was to take this woman’s pain away- to chase away all the demons Franky had to face throughout her life that no single person should _ever_ have to face, let alone by themselves. Bridget knew she couldn’t do that, of course, but she would sure as hell be there to hold Franky’s hand every step of the way as she faced them.

Bridget continued. “I’m not going away, alright? And you can always tell me as much or as little as you want to, Franky, about anything. You want me to hold you? I’m there. You need me to give you some space? You got it.”

Bridget felt Franky’s body relax and the tension dissipate within the muscles resting under her own fingers, as if Franky had been holding a crushing weight inside of them. Franky sighed and turned her body inward so that her face was pressed into the crook of Bridget’s neck.

“Thank you,” Franky husked shakily, and Bridget wasn’t sure if the fragility of her voice was a result of the virus or her emotions.

But Franky quickly cleared her throat. “And, I promise ya, if you get this fucking nasty bug from me, which you defs will, I will do Panadol runs and sit with you on the bathroom floor, and make you all the chocolate chip pancakes you can keep down.”

Bridget chuckled lightly and kissed Franky’s exposed cheek. “Well, thank you, darling. I don’t care if I get sick, though, don’t worry about that.”

“Well it’s not exactly what you signed up for, though, yeah?”

Bridget just shook her head and held Franky tighter.

“Nuh, baby. It’s exactly what I signed up for.”


End file.
